


What You Wanted

by sevenlostkeys



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Dress Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s08e08 Mummy on the Orient Express, F/M, Ficlet, Foreshadowing, Historical Dress, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Non-Graphic Smut, Stolen Moments, The Great Gatsby References, and his suit, it just hurts okay, mummy on the orient express, that dress though, whouffaldi, why didn't they at least kiss?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlostkeys/pseuds/sevenlostkeys
Summary: What actually happened in the train hallway.
Relationships: The Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	What You Wanted

“To the last hurrah,” Clara said. She hoped her gesturing deflected the Doctor from looking at her face because her brave mask was slipping. Maybe this hadn’t been the right decision.

“The last hurrah,” Twelve said, somberly, downing his glass in one. It wasn’t like him to drink. It wasn’t like him to have emotions, either, but here he was, saying goodbye to one of those rare companions that even out-savvied him and most definitely had more hearts than him. 

She swayed a bit, from the bubbles and the movement of the train. She was warm and woozy and suddenly in his arms, her black and gold beaded dress clinking and breaking the silence between them. He drew his right arm around her waist tightly, while his left hand freed the crystal champagne flute from her gloved hand. 

“That’s the last drink of the night for you, Miss Oswald,” he said, turning slowly so she could lean against one of the corridor walls while he tucked the champagne flutes away in her nearby sleeper cabin. 

“Eh, you’re not the boss of me, Mister,” she said in a teasing tone. She brought her right hand to her mouth, using her teeth to pull her black satin opera glove off. 

“Oh, I’d never presume to be so bold,” he said softly as he returned to her side. A slight smile formed on his lips.

She looked up at him in low light.

“What is it?” Her breath caught as she asked the question.

“I--I’m rubbish at goodbyes, Clara,” he said. “Always have been, always will be. This is the closest I’ve gotten--” He trailed off then, unsure of how to express it. Loss was different for him. He experienced it all the time, over the course of thousands of years. But when it was someone like her...it hurt differently, and longer. Like a bruise that should have healed ages ago but still stayed tender. 

“Go on,” she whispered, her ungloved hand pulling at his cravat. He stopped her then. Clara braced herself for the usual lecture, all the reasons why they shouldn’t. She felt feverish, and the opera glove she had been holding in her other gloved hand became slightly damp and escaped her grasp. 

The Doctor bent down to retrieve it, but his left hand came to rest on her right ankle. He looked up at her then, the low light in the train corridor flickering off the gold and rust-colored beads of her dress and jewelry like starlight. Only Clara Oswald would glitter in the dark. 

His long slender fingers began to run up her leg, his fingers dancing over her kneecap and disappearing under the sequined panels of her dress. 

She startled a bit, and she grabbed the handrail to steady herself.

“Doctor…” she started, which sounded halfway between a question and plea.

He pulled her left leg up over his shoulder while his left hand continued its slow soft explorations under her dress. His fingertips plucked at her suspenders before ghosting over the edges of her black silk knickers. 

Clara could feel her champagne buzz burning off, her body flushed from his unexpected touch.

“Wh--what if someone sees us?” she asked, voice shaking ever so slightly. Why did she ask that now? What if he stopped?

“I reckon that’s the whole point,” he said, in his matter-of-fact tone, gazing up at her. Only his eyes betrayed him. 

She let out a long sigh then, her body slightly relaxing as he quickly undid all the underpinnings beneath her frock. 

A small nervous laugh caught in Clara’s throat then. 

“What’s funny?” the Doctor asked, quickly gazing up, eyebrows arched.

“Any other lover would have struggled with that for a good half hour.”

“Clara Oswald, I’m not any other lover,” he growled. “Plus a few hundred years of time traveling, you pick up a very specific set of skills.”

“Who on earth did you learn that from?” she asked. 

“ _Men and girls came and went, like moths among the whisperings_ ,” he quoted softly, trailing light kisses against her thighs. “ _And the champagne...and the stars…_ ” 

“Wait, that’s--” 

He buried his head between her legs then, his delicate hands gripping her hips in place. This effectively blotted out the loose tangle of thoughts in her mind. Instead, she tried to anchor herself to him and his ministrations. She swung her right leg over his shoulder and arched her back, allowing him to go deeper, surrendering in the shadows. 

His hands snaked up the small of her back a fraction of an inch at a time, his fingertips tapping out a secret code on her spine. There might be bruises later -- so far she’d been able to explain the odd one away to Danny. The emotional ones would be much harder to conceal now. 

She was close now. Her breath coming in shallow gasps, her hands slipping into his disheveled hair, urging him on. 

He came up for air then. “Clara, my Clara,” he murmured, tipping his head back to look at her. He wanted to memorize every soft curve of her cut against the darkness, on the edge of unraveling under his mouth and fingertips. 

“Doctor, please...” 

“Please what?” he asked coyly. 

“Do as you are told,” she moaned.

He smirked. That was their not-so-secret joke. Too bad neither of them was good at following the rules, although he knew which ones could be broken. But tonight, for her, he had no choice but to oblige. 

It didn’t take much to do her in, a few simple movements and murmurs. Her hands turned to fists, pulling on his hair. Had he grown it out for his? He’d never tell.

Afterward, he gently leaned back, restoring her to a wobbly stance, her heels teetering a bit from the movement of the train. He shook his dress jacket off his shoulders and stood to wrap her up, cocooning her in fine black fabric. She fell into his arms then, burying her head in his chest. At first, it was just so she could steady herself but suddenly her face was wet, all the emotions they’d been out running this time finally catching up to them, to her. He’d strung her out too far this time, she could feel herself crumbling, her vision blurring. 

The Doctor scooped her up, carrying her to her cabin, sitting down on her bed with her still in his arms. 

“I thought this was what you wanted,” he whispered into her hair, his arms caged around her, wrapping her tight in his jacket.

“It was -- I just...” She sighed then, letting the rest linger unsaid. 

“ _So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past_ ,” he quoted. 

She piped up then, shrugging off his embrace slightly, the quotations clicking in her brain. 

“Fitzgerald...are you kidding me?”

“I was a younger man once, and parties were always a great place to get lost.”

“Oh, I remember that one quite a bit,” she teased, her emotions finally leveling out. She cupped a hand around his face, pressing her lips to his cheek. He turned his face to meet her lips and she could taste herself on his mouth.

He eased away from her then, a bit shy, wanting to give them both a bit of space. “Well,” he started, running his hands through his hair. “I’ll just let you freshen up a bit.” 

She nodded, pulling his jacket off her shoulders and offering it, her arm outstretched. 

He took it, tucking it under his left arm, a slight trip in his step as he walked out. He turned at the door, one last glance between them like this.

“Do as you’re told.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the dark, the only sound was her heart trying to break out of her ribcage like a wild bird. She’d never been brave.

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt the cutaway in the hallway scene of "Mummy on the Orient Express" was too abrupt and killed the very apparent sexual tension. Consider this the remedy.
> 
> Thanks to Hannah for cheerleading me to do the damn thing. 
> 
> Fitzgerald quotes are from "The Great Gatsby."


End file.
